Tuesday, October 31, 2006

so it begins

What’s past is prologue. The Tempest, 2.1.254

Tomorrow is when it all starts. The first day of the National Novel Writing Month! I’m feeling a mix of energy and anticipation and sheer terror. After all, I have strangled one plot, a year and a half ago, by badgering and questioning it to death. It just disintegrated, and now it shivers in a cluster of files on my computer. One day, perhaps, I can perform novel CPR and bring it back. In the meantime, I’m staring at my scene list for novel number two, wondering: do we both, this plot and I, have what it takes?

I have my doubts.

I’ve spent much of today and yesterday in my room, shuffling through my outlines and character charts, but I can’t get anything done! After weeks and months of working with these ideas, my room is packed with those characters, and they’re terribly alive. Each one is just as nervous as I am, but I can’t seem to make any of them behave. I remind them that tomorrow is November first, no more playing, we really have to do this. Some pay attention, others just get scared and tune me out. “It’s opening day!” I say, waving my hands. Part of the set falls over.

One of the villains is worried that she will either be overacting or underacting, and she compensates for these fears by wearing an obnoxious floral perfume. I’d kick her out, but she’s so nervous, running over and over her lines, that I don’t have the heart. Her father and another character, meant to be sworn enemies, are certainly not worried--they’ve been talking for the last hour about sailing. “You’re supposed to hate each other,” I mutter. I don’t think they heard.

My two main characters are completely absent. The heroine got bored and wandered off to her trailer. I think she’s just listening to garage girl bands, but that’s not the time period she’s supposed to be in. I’d go remonstrate, but she wasn’t in a very good mood, and I need her to work hard tomorrow. So I let her be. The hero, on the other hand, has absolutely gone AWOL. That might be okay--I need him for a cameo in the prologue, but could skip it if he hasn’t turned up. He absolutely must be on good behavior for Part Two, which I might get to around November 11 or so. If I’m on schedule.

... Which may be impossible, because the set crew has slacked off completely. They’ve given me half a set--half a set!! “Guys!” I cry, finding them all chatting over lunch. “Guys, I have, what is this, part of a shoreline? That will get me through some of the first scene. But what about everything that happens inside? I need libraries, bedrooms, a big kind of meeting area, I need sweeping outdoor shots, a forest, several other houses...” One of them cuts me off, holding up a beefy hand. He bites into his sandwich. With his mouth full he says, “Love, we’ll take care of it.” Right.

Back at my desk, I am overwhelmed by the extras--several dozens of girls, all about age seventeen, and then a handful of sulky looking older women. Where have the guys gone? Also wandered off. I have to tell the girls several times to quiet down. I meant to be polite, but they were all giggly, and I can’t stand giggling, so maybe I was a little stern. But after all, I am the Author, right? Someone needs to tell them that. After I turned my back on them again, one of the younger girls said, quite audibly, “Who was that??”

And so I tinker a bit more with the plot, mix some scenes around, splice some new material in between, trying to get everything I can in order. Trying to ignore the silent cacophony in the rest of the room. I have one person on my side, it seems. Only one. She’s the heroine’s best friend, and she’s meant to be brave and kind in the story. So in her brave and kind way, she sits next to my desk, I suppose trying to be companionable. She’s humming tunelessly. But you’re supposed to have a gorgeous singing voice! I think in despair. That’s important to the story! She throws me a sweet and supportive smile.

Sigh. Somehow, I have to get this rabble under control. I am so grateful that any word at all counts toward my quota of 50,000 words. They can be simplistic, rustic, one-syllable. They all count. And so, one simplistic word at a time, I’ll try to round up all these crazy characters, muster up whatever that set crew can give me, and put them through their paces. It all starts one minute past midnight… And I’ll keep you posted! --jl

Posted by Jenn Langefeld on 10/31 at 06:32 PM
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